laboza_.

When Parson Jones awoke, a bell was somewhere tolling for midnight.
Somebody was at the door of his cell with a key. The lock grated, the
door swung, the turnkey looked in and stepped back, and a ray of
moonlight fell upon M. Jules St.-Ange. The prisoner sat upon the empty
shackles and ring-bolt in the centre of the floor.

"Misty Posson Jone'," said the visitor, softly.

"O Jools!"

"_Mais_, w'at de matter, Posson Jone'?"

"My sins, Jools, my sins!"

"Ah! Posson Jone', is that something to cry, because a man get sometime
a litt' bit intoxicate? _Mais_, if a man keep _all the time_ intoxicate,
I think that is again' the conscien'."

"Jools, Jools, your eyes is darkened--oh I Jools, Where's my pore old
niggah?"

"Posson Jone', never min'; he is wid Baptiste."

"Where?"

"I don' know w'ere--_mais_ he is wid Baptiste. Baptiste is a beautiful
to take care of somebody."

"Is he as good as you, Jools?" asked Parson Jones, sincerely.

Jules was slightly staggered.

"You know, Posson Jone', you know, a nigger cannot be good as a w'ite
man--_mais_ Baptiste is a good nigger."

The parson moaned and dropped his chin into his hands.

"I was to of left for home to-morrow, sun-up, on the Isabella schooner.
Pore Smyrny!" He deeply sighed.

"Posson Jone'," said Jules, leaning against the wall and smiling, "I
swear you is the moz funny man I ever see. If I was you I would say, me,
'Ah! 'ow I am lucky! the money I los', it was not mine, anyhow!' My
faith! shall a man make hisse'f to be the more sorry because the money
he los' is not his? Me, I would say, 'it is a specious providence.'

"Ah! Misty Posson Jone'," he continued, "you make a so droll sermon ad
the bull-ring. Ha! ha! I swear I thing you can make money to preach thad
sermon many time ad the theatre St. Philippe. Hah! you is the moz brave
dat I never see, _mais_ ad the same time the moz rilligious man. Where
I'm goin' to fin' one priest to make like dat? _Mais,_ why you can't
cheer up an' be 'appy? Me, if I should be miserabl' like that I would
kill meself."

The countryman only shook his head.

"_Bien,_ Posson Jone', I have the so good news for you."

The prisoner looked up with eager inquiry.

"Las' evening when they lock' you, I come right off at M. De Blanc's
house to get you let out of de calaboose; M. De Blanc he is the judge.
So soon I was entering--'Ah! Jules, me boy, juz the man to make complete
the game!' Posson Jone', it was a spe